Fool
by Swamp-Eyes
Summary: [FURY ROAD] Angharad steps down into the hole behind the truck seats with him – so close yet so far. Furiosa steps out of the truck – it's a jump into the void. Max leaps to the steering wheel and he's driving again – he just doesn't know where to. [Furiosa Max Angharad]


**. FOOL .**

 _... they cannot touch me.  
They are long dead.  
I am the one...  
...who runs from both  
the living _and _the dead._

* * *

 _FURIOSA_

"How do I call you?"

Furiosa turns back to look in the hole behind the truck seats briefly – they're there, squeezed into it together - her eyes immediately set back on the dusty road.

She doesn't know why she's even asking that. Does she care? Does she want to know? Does she really just need a way to call him?

"Does it matter?" a short sentence, but still one of the more articulated that have come out his lips since the moment they have crossed paths.

 _Does it?_

Not really. Yet she had asked.

"Fine. When I yell 'Fool'...you drive outta here as fast as you can."

Furiosa touches the triggers and the buttons showing him the sequence that turns the engine on, her eyes back on him. But that's just useless - she can read nothing in those blue-grayish eyes, she cannot understand if he's getting the right sequence or not.

So she just assumes that yes, he's got that. Not that she has a choice. She doesn't have a choice when she jumps out the truck, ready to face what awaits her – maybe she never had one.

She thinks back at those mad eyes the very moment before her boots clash with the ground, and suddenly it feels like a jump into the void to her.

 _What am I relying on –_ who _am I relying on?_

But then her boots _do_ touch the ground, raising a small bright brown dust cloud. She has hope.

 _ANGHARAD_

When she had stepped down the hole, just a few minutes before, Angharad was afraid of the closeness – she didn't trust him, she didn't want to have him so near.

Now she realizes she has been a fool. They're close, shoulder against shoulder, his breath on her skin when he turns his profile in circumspection - yet miles apart. She had no idea such a thing could happen. She is scared, but not of the guns – the _two_ guns – he's pointing at her, not even if one of them is lying dangerously near her belly, with her baby just there under her skin. She is afraid of all the rest: of what's happening to Furiosa out there, of what's happening to her friends in the back of the truck.

She is tense, she is holding her breath – yet the sharp stab of pain that contracts her belly catches her off guard. She moans biting her lips, knowing she has to stay silent if she doesn't want to put everyone into troubles – and she doesn't, she really doesn't.

Then she does it. It's like a basic instinct, an ask for help – when you get scared, you cling to the nearest thing you have. And he is the nearest thing she has. She places a hand on his – there's the metal of the gun, there's her belly contracting, and there's his skin. He has blood, she has seen it herself - but now she can't _feel_ it.

There's absolutely nothing left for her in that hand – it offers no comfort, it's as arid as the miles of sand out there. Touching him feels like hitting on an invisible isolating film between their skins.

 _He is in a place I cannot reach._

 _MAX_

Max finds himself holding his breath.

The woman is near. She's not a woman maybe – she's a girl, she's just a girl. But she smells of life, too much life – hers, the one of the child she's bearing - of hydrated human skin too, of artificial perfumed oils. All overthrowing scents he's not used to. He's used to blood and dirt and metal and gasoline and sand.

Not even pointing two guns at her it's enough to make him feel safe from that – he never feels safe enough to drop them down, nowhere, not even pressed into a hole with a pregnant girl – and not enough to scare her, too, it seems.

She's just in deep pain, and when she reaches for his hand for an instant – a split second, really – he has no idea what he could do. She is a splendid creature, she's a living creature, yet the world has not spared her, not even her. Wrinkled dryness-induced scars run across the side of her cheek and her forehead – none is allowed to be perfect in this world.

 _How long will she leave? Will she hunt me too – along with the living, or the dead?_

Or maybe it didn't matter, in the end. Hunted he was, that was just that. There was no hope.

"FOOL!"

Furiosa's voice strikes him like a jolt.

Max leaps out of the hole automatically - executing orders is far easier than trying to cope with his sick brain.

So, he's just going to drive outta there, as fast as he can, as she has asked – even if he doesn't know why, even if he doesn't know where to.

* * *

 **AN**

I know this is kind of strange. I fell in love with the movie, I fell in love with every single glance between them, I fell in love with the smile Max and Angharad exchange just before she dies. I fell in love with this scene - seriously who didn't? - and I wanted to do my take. First MM story and it might be the last, please if someone is reading let me know what did you think. Also any other Max-Angharad-Furiosa fic suggestion - of all kind, I'm not really into canon romance as you can see - is very welcomed. Have a nice day and TNX for reading, S.


End file.
